


Something Old, Something New

by eyemeohmy



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Comedy, Crack, Dorkwads, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Romance, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1914852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short Wheeljack/Sunstreaker and related miscellaneous ficlets for babbling_bug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paint Therapy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babbling_bug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babbling_bug/gifts).



> Upon her insistence, postin' these WJ/SS I have written for Babs for memes or gifts, etc.
> 
> I'll be putting these in chapters so they're neater.
> 
> A variety of genres, though most are fluff and lighthearted. They all take place in G1, save for one or two which sort of blend continuities.
> 
> If I should add anymore warnings, please let me know.

Sunstreaker fixed Wheeljack with a suspicious glare. “… I don’t trust it,” he said, his optics falling to the gun-shaped object in the scientist’s hand.

Wheeljack laughed. “You’ve no need t’worry, Sunstreaker,” he insisted. “I tested it out earlier. It works just fine!”

"But you made it."

"What’s that s’pose t’imply?"

Sunstreaker sighed, folding his arms. “If it messes up my paint job…” he trailed off, because he need not finish. Wheeljack had an imagination; he’d figure it out.

"If it dinnit work, I wouldn’t use it on ya," the scientist explained, a little frustrated. "I mean, of all the Autobots on the Ark, why would I choose _you_ for a guinea pig? Yeah, don’t make no sense, right?"

"You always did like living dangerously."

Wheeljack had to laugh at that. “Keeps the processors sharp,” he said, poking the side of his helm. He swept a hand back, gesturing to the empty slab beside him. “Now, lay down. I’m gonna rock yer world, as the humans would say.”

Sunstreaker rolled his eyes, but… “Fine.” He walked over to the slab, hopped on, stretching out on his stomach carefully. Rested his chin on his folded arms. “But if it—”

"Yea, yea," Wheeljack interjected, swishing a hand, "I know. Ten pieces, scattered where no one can find ‘em, I get it." He held up the device, switching it on; it whirred loudly, bulbs along its barrel lighting up red. "Heh heh, this is gonna be great…"

Sunstreaker was ready to pull his gun if it wasn’t. Wheeljack braced a hand against the small of his back, and then with a hiss - Oh… Oh, my. The airbrushing of paint on his chassis tickled, but mostly it… it felt _so good_. As if it was seeping under his plating, pinching at those sensitive receptors. “Nn,” the yellow Autobot groaned, unable to help himself.

Wheeljack snickered deviously. “Yeah, see?” He moved the airbrush gun down, down between Sunstreaker’s legs, and—

"W-Wheeljack!" Sunstreaker gasped, digging his fingers so tightly into the slab the metal caved beneath the pressure.

"And t’think," Wheeljack sneered under that maskplate, "we’re only jus’ startin’."


	2. 'Cause, Baby, You're A

Sunstreaker groaned, face in his hands. Today… Today was going to be Hell. He just felt it in his struts. Because whenever this time of the year came around on Earth—

"I’m all stocked!" Wheeljack shouted enthusiastically. He stepped aside, showing Sunstreaker his arsenal of fireworks. Hundreds of all kinds; from little sparklers to things that were illegal in most countries. Big and small, harmless and this-may-result-in-serious-injury. And Wheeljack couldn’t be any more happier - probably wouldn’t be this happy winning some sort of Cybertronian Nobel prize or the day the war ended and the Autobots won.

No, he will never be happier than he was at this moment with his massive hoard of festive, fun explosives.

Wheeljack picked a couple of tube-shaped, brightly colored rockets from the pile. They were still a bit small; most human fireworks were. But Wheeljack, of course, worked to make them better. Larger. Stronger. Scarier. He held one out to Sunstreaker and said, “You an’ me, we’re gonna fire off these babies when it hits midnight here.”

"Isn’t that… sort of the point? All fireworks go off at midnight?"

"Yea, yea, but… Trust me on this, okay? Ya gotta do it with me!"

Sunstreaker rolled his optics. “Fine.”

Later, come midnight, the moment the clock struck 12, Wheeljack ran over to Sunstreaker and helped him light his rocket. Both went up relatively at the same time, just as a few others took to the sky. But when the rockets exploded high in the atmosphere, they— formed a heart? A heart that sparkled and popped in gold and white, twinkling like stars.

Sunstreaker… To anyone else, this would probably be corny and silly. But, Sunstreaker always appreciated fine art, in any form. He knew Wheeljack must have worked hard to make rockets that could make such a perfect, precise heart.

Sunstreaker turned to Wheeljack. He leaned in and kissed him, as the heart turned to streak the night sky like rolling paint in smoky wisps.


	3. New Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble features sparksex and pnp.

Sunstreaker was quite the cuddler.

It surprised Wheeljack the first time, but not entirely. It seemed fitting, actually. After they initial overload wore off, Sunstreaker pressing himself flush against the scientist in exhaustion, arms wrapped around his torso, cheek nuzzling against throat-tubing—it took Wheeljack a moment to realize this wasn’t some glitch from his exhausted CPU. He chuckled, then, and slowly wrapped his arms back around the yellow-black Autobot.

Wheeljack wasn’t sure which he liked more—the actual interfacing, or the afterglow cuddling. But he knew he treasured both immensely.

Sunstreaker ground into Wheeljack’s lap, inventing sharp hitches of air between growls. His hands squeezed around his older partner’s hips. Wheeljack brushed his maskplate along Sunstreaker’s chest, rising to meet his face. Sunstreaker pressed a kiss over the smooth plate—a human tradition, one shared between couples or those with some sort of romantic connection or bond; Wheeljack liked it, though was disappointed he couldn’t return this very foreign but lovely alien caress.

The cables between their grinding bodies flushed with circulating energy, their chassis heating up, optics brightening and brightening. Wheeljack couldn’t practically feel Sunstreaker’s spark pounding against his chestplates, sending small vibrations into Wheeljack’s frame. Their EM fields coiled and knotted, wrapping them up in tendrils of combined energy.

Wheeljack ran his fingers up and down Sunstreaker’s back; dipped them down to playful tug at cables plugged into hip sockets. The younger ‘bot growled only to ground back against him, demanding to be touched more. Wheeljack was all too happy to oblige. He felt a soft tickle along one side of his head as Sunstreaker kissed a flashing siren-fin. Wheeljack’s optics flickered, and he thrust another powerful wave of energy through the cables. Sunstreaker whimpered, and Wheeljack felt so honored.

Overload burst through and between their chassis. Energy poured from their bodies, leaving them exhausted, their sparks dim and returning to their housing to rest and recuperate. Sunstreaker exvented, sagging in the scientist’s shaky arms.

"Well," Wheeljack mumbled, going to unplug the cables between their necks, "I—"

He grunted when Sunstreaker suddenly shoved him down. Wordlessly, he stretched over the older bot’s frame, nuzzling and petting. Squeezing. Wheeljack purred; he returned the cuddling, fingers deftly stroking Sunstreaker’s back and hips again with appreciation.

Sunstreaker rest the side of his head against Wheeljack’s shoulder. Fell asleep a minute later. Wheeljack chuckled; Sunstreaker was still a young bot, so it didn’t surprise Wheeljack. He was an old bot—a few minutes later, he was fast asleep, too, one arm still slung over Sunstreaker’s lower back.


	4. Words for Bells

"So, basically—by uploading that micro-chip into my CPU, with just one word, my system will respond with arousal because the program associates aforementioned word with carnal pleasure, and automatically reacts as it would if I were in the middle of interfacing?"

Wheeljack’s optics brightened. He nodded furiously. “Yes!” he exclaimed, sirens lighting up.

Sunstreaker stared a moment. “… I’m lost,” he said, arms akimbo.

"It’s really not that complicated," Wheeljack chuckled. He showed Sunstreaker the small blue chip. "By installing this, I—"

"No, I know," Sunstreaker scowled, "but… One word? Seriously?"

"I got the idea from Chip, actually," Wheeljack explained. "He was tellin’ me about somethin’ this human did with his dog. I think it was Povlov or somethin’. But it was a form of conditioning. And I thought, eh, why not skip the trainin’ and get right to the fun?"

Sunstreaker pursed his lips. “Humans aren’t exactly trustworthy.”

"Maybe not, but I made sure this is!" Wheeljack insisted. "C’mon, let me just do a trial run. Doesn’t have to be permanent. It’ll last for a day before your defense matrix deletes it from your system. It’s real simple, too. Installs real fast!"

Sunstreaker sighed. “Fine,” he grumbled, “but this better be worth it.”

"Oh, it will be!"

It took literally five minutes for the program to install. Sunstreaker blinked. “I don’t feel any different,” he muttered, rubbing the side of his helm.

"You won’t. Not right away. But, I guarantee you, once it kicks in, your optics will turn," Wheeljack paused for mischievous, dramatic effect, " _fuchsia_.”

"What—" Sunstreaker gasped; his knees locked together. The sudden rush of pleasure had him falling to the ground, inventing heavily. He groaned, his plating suddenly hot, way too hot. "W-Wheeljack…" he whimpered, optics a bright fuchsia.

Wheeljack clapped happily. “Yay!”


	5. Slow Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble features sparksex.

"It’s really somethin’, you know."

Sunstreaker blinked, looking up to Wheeljack’s face hovering above his. The scientist had no mouth, but his optics creased in a warm sort of way. His version of a smile.  
Blue light poured between their coupled frames; Wheeljack glanced back into Sunstreaker’s open chest.

"It looks like everyone else’s," Sunstreaker snorted, though he was a little flattered.

"Nah," Wheeljack insisted. He ran his fingers slowly, carefully along the edges of the chamber; Sunstreaker wiggled. "It’s brighter. Brighter than mine an’ a lot of others I’ve seen. It’s probably ‘cause you’re younger."

Sunstreaker smirked. “So, our sparks lose their intensity the older we get?”

And now those optics weren’t so warm, just… distant. “Yeah, you could say that,” Wheeljack murmured, slowly looking away.

Sunstreaker frowned, suddenly feeling a pang of guilt. “Hey,” he said, softly; reached up and took Wheeljack’s face, pulling him closer. Wheeljack tried not to show his concern, but met the younger bot’s gaze anyway. “It’s beautiful. And I know beauty when I see it.” He nuzzled his forehead against the scientist’s.

Slowly, the happy glow returned to Wheeljack’s optics. “Yeah,” he chuckled, and nuzzled back, “I believe ya.”


	6. Mary Had A Little Lamb

"He doesn’t like it."

Wheeljack blinked, sitting upright on his knees again. He looked to Sunstreaker standing at the doorway, angry but concerned expression on his face. Though he was doing his very, very best not to show the latter.

"It’s okay, Sunstreaker," Wheeljack assured. He gathered to his feet, brushing off his knees. He approached the younger mech, pat him on the back. "We’re gonna find ‘im. He couldn’t have gone too far."

"Yeah, I know," Sunstreaker grumbled. He invented. "Just… I told Sideswipe to lock the fragging door." The two left the supply room; thunder suddenly erupted above their heads, sending a rumble through the ship. Sunstreaker froze, managed to repress a wince. "Scrap."

"Maybe it’ll scare Bob out?" Wheeljack helped. "C’mon." He reached over, taking the younger bot by the hand. Sunstreaker sighed and followed along. "I’ve got ten drones scouting the Ark. Sure we’ll hear back from one soon.”

Sunstreaker’s frown twitched. “Yeah,” he murmured, slowly closing his fingers around Wheeljack’s hand, “okay.”

"But I—"

Wheeljack squealed, sirens lighting up as he turned the corner, Bob suddenly pouncing on him. The scientist nearly fell to the ground if not for Sunstreaker catching him. “Well, look who it is!” Wheeljack laughed, hanging limp in Sunstreaker’s hands.

"Where the frag—" Sunstreaker stopped himself. He could see the Insecticon was clearly scared; his shivering little pill body curling in on itself, antennae swept back against his head. He nervously glanced around the hall, expecting the Big Scary Boom Thing to suddenly attack him.

Sunstreaker helped Wheeljack to a stand. “I’m not mad,” he said, kneeling and opening his arms. Bob hesitated a moment before skittering into his embrace, curling up against the Autobot’s chest.

"It’s okay, little guy," Wheeljack said, patting Bob on the head. "Jus’ a storm. It’ll pass soon."

Sunstreaker smiled. “Thanks. Again. For helping me.” He idly stroked one of the Insecticon’s antenna.

Wheeljack winked. “Ain’t nothin’, especially for you.”

Sunstreaker was now forced to repress the bright violet in his flushed optics.


	7. Kinda Like That Aerosmith Song, But Sorta Reversed

Wheeljack winced as Sunstreaker angrily kicked the elevator wall.

"That ain’t gonna help," he tittered, "trust me."

"I thought maintenance took care of this!" Sunstreaker snarled. He glared up at the ceiling mounted security camera staring down at them. "You better be getting help, Red!"

"I think it was Hoist on repair duty," Wheeljack mumbled, rubbing a siren. "Yeah! Hoist."

Sunstreaker cocked an optic ridge at the scientist. “How’d an engineer bungle this up?” he scowled.

"To be honest, elevator repairs aren’t exactly his specialty, so much as building solar powered cities made of crystals."

Sunstreaker growled, pacing the elevator. “I have things to do!” he snapped a moment later.

"I’m sure you won’t get reprimanded, given the circumstances," Wheeljack reassured, remaining fairly calm. "And I’d offer to help, but…" He looked at the control panel—totally destroyed from the sudden electric malfunction. Or tiny explosion. Whichever worked.

"Yeah, but that doesn’t mean—"

"Hey, hey!"

Sunstreaker hissed at being interrupted, but decided to humor the scientist. “ _What_?”

"Who loves you most in the world?" Wheeljack asked. He squinted his optics then thrust his thumbs against his chest.

Sunstreaker rolled his eyes, but… “Yeah, yea,” he said, but relaxed a little nonetheless.


	8. Little Wounds, Big Egos

Sunstreaker sat miserably on the edge of the berth, arms folded, scowl on his face, right optic busted.

"What’s new, sour puss?"

Wheeljack snickered as he strolled up to the pouting Autobot. “Ratchet said I could take a look at you since he’s busy with Ironhide,” he explained. “They tell me I’m crazy, you should see the old steel with a new gun.”

"You’re not a medic," Sunstreaker grumbled.

"Nah, but I know enough to do simple repairs like yours," Wheeljack reassured. He pulled over a tray of instruments, examining them. "Besides, not the first time I’ve patched you up." He winked.

Sunstreaker’s single optic turned violet. “Not like this,” he grumbled lowly.

Wheeljack carefully took Sunstreaker’s chin in his hand, tilting his head up; leaned in to get a better look at the damage. “Yup,” he said, “that’s a broken optic.”

Sunstreaker rolled his optic.

Wheeljack booped his forehead against Sunstreaker’s. “Five minutes tops, an’ I promise it won’t hurt.”

"Just like you last night, eh?" Sunstreaker countered with a wicked smile. Wheeljack’s sirens lit up as he stuttered; Sunstreaker took a cleaning utensil from the tray and held it up to the embarrassed scientist’s face. "Get to work, speedy."


	9. Brothers In (More Than) Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two for one. Gen Sideswipe and Sunstreaker ficlets.

"Fraggin’ no good, lousy cheaters!"

Sideswipe frothed as he shook a fist at the Rainmakers circling the heavens above. Acid rain showered the ground in thick sheets, coupled with powerful lightning and loud thunder. Too dangerous to leave their little rock cave and shelter. “Couldn’t fight yer own battles, so had to call in the back-ups, huh!?” he shouted, voice muffled by a sudden crack of thunder.

Sunstreaker snorted, sitting in the back of the cave. “They can’t hear us, numb-bolt,” he stated, picking at the small burn on his arm.

"Yeah, but still!" Sideswipe huffed and retreated to his brother’s side. Flopped down across from him. "Scrap, total scrap." He paused, studying his silent, stony-faced twin. "You okay, Sunny?"

Sunstreaker grumbled. “Glitches short-circuited three of my servos.” He showed his right hand to Sideswipe, only able to wiggle his pinkie and thumb.

"Don’t worry," Sideswipe chortled, "we’ll pay ‘em back threefold."

"You can bet on it," Sunstreaker growled, optics fierce.

Sideswipe laughed. “That’s the spirit!”

"You okay?"

Sideswipe shrugged. “Got my back, but nothin’ major. Can’t really feel anything.” He twisted around, showing Sunstreaker the burnt welts along his back.

Sunstreaker reached out, carefully touched one. “Feel that?”

"Nah. Are they bad?"

"I guess that’s a good sign. And not really." Sunstreaker’s frown twitched as he stroked another burn. "Yeah, we’ll get them back. _Tenfold_.”

\---

Carly winced, squeezing her eyes shut, as the two Autobots clashed loudly against the wall beside her.

"Hey! Guys!" she shouted, waving a hand at the two. "Stop fighting!"

Sideswipe flipped Sunstreaker onto his back, straddling his waist. “We’re not fighting!” he insisted. He grunted as he was socked in the jaw, thrown off his twin. Sunstreaker rolled onto his feet, pulling his recovering brother into a headlock.

Carly huffed, hands on her hips. “Yeah, right. Stop it, before you seriously hurt yourselves!”

"It doesn’t hurt, though!" Sideswipe giggled, tugging at Sunstreaker’s arm. He managed to pry it loose, flip the yellow bot over him. Carly nearly fell from the vibrations.

"You callin’ me weak?" Sunstreaker growled. He was back on his feet, pouncing on his twin.

Carly was at a loss for words. “You’re sparring then,” she said. “But I’m pretty sure Optimus doesn’t want you practicing your jet judo in the main hall.”

Sideswipe blinked, looked over his brother’s shoulder. “Jet judo?” he repeated. Sunstreaker tumbled with him. “We’re having a pillow fight!”

Carly arched a brow. “A pillow fight?”

"Yeah," Sunstreaker grumbled, shoving at Sideswipe.

"But we don’t have any pillows, so we’re using each other!"

Carly blinked again. Sighing, she buried her face in a hand, shaking her head.


	10. Five Minute Collect Call

_Hey._

_Hey._

_You okay?_

_… Are you really asking me that right now?_

_Eh, sorry, kinda knee-jerk. Y’sound calm, but I know that don’t necessarily mean you *are* calm…_

_Given the circumstances, I’m sure you understand._

_Oh, I do, but… I also don’t want ya doin’ anythin’ crazy. You got a temper, kid; I know what it’s capable of._

_You never had a problem… with my temper._

_Nope. Jus’ worry y’might do somethin’ stupid._

_What can I do? I’ve already taken care of the problem._

_I heard. You… were pretty rough._

_Yeah. Yeah, I was._

_I’m sorry, kid._

_You should be. … I know, I know it’s not your fault, but dammit. DAMMIT!_

_Hey, c’mon. S'okay; I’m not mad._

_Well, I am!_

_I know. But we got ‘bout five kliks left, or so Ratchet says. Let’s not waste it arguin’ or bein’ angry. Er, *too* angry._

_… I don’t get you._

_Yea._

_… Your new gun blew up on Bumblebee._

_Ha! Oh, oops. He’s okay, right?_

_Yeah. He’s okay. But…_

Sunstreaker and Wheeljack continued their conversation over the commlink. The only means of which they could communicate, given Wheeljack’s condition and the fact they weren’t in the same room. (It was for the best. The doctors needed the room, anyway.)

The conversation came to an abrupt end not even five minutes later—Wheeljack had been laughing when the link was cut. Not long after, Ratchet and Hoist emerged from the sickbay. Sunstreaker clenched his jaw, attempting to hide the fear in his bright optics as he looked to them for hope.

Ratchet sadly shook his head.


	11. Hellavuh Rock

"Let the drones test it first. Remember the last time? Remember the mess?"

Wheeljack sighed, slumping against his desk. He hated lectures from Ratchet. “I know, I know, but I’m tellin’ ya, it’s not even dangerous! It’s not a weapon, either!” he whined.

Ratchet snorted, folding his arms over his chest. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t prone to exploding.”

Wheeljack grumbled. “Dat hurt, medic.”

Ratchet sighed. “Listen, I’ve got a few physicals to run.” He cocked an optic ridge, face serious. “Promise me you won’t let anyone get their hands on that converter until you’ve tested it with the drones.”

"Fine."

"And let me watch a demonstration before then, too."

"Fine."

"And get Optimus’s approval."

“ _Fine_!” Wheeljack slapped his hands on the desk, knocking over a tiny bobblehead of Carl Sagan. (Courtesy of Chip, fellow scientist and tech enthusiast.)

Ratchet studied Wheeljack; sighed again. He knew he was being a little rough, but… Hell, he was a doctor, and he cared about his patients. He didn’t want someone rushed into his medbay missing their limbs and half their face. “But, hey. I’ve got something for you.”

Wheeljack looked up, watched as Ratchet removed a package from his chest compartment. “I found it on the floor; meant to give it to you earlier, but forgot.” He handed the scientist the package. “Sorry.” Without another word, he turned and left.

Wheeljack blinked. He turned in his chair, slowly peeling away the paper wrapping. Opened the box—optics and sirens lit up. He held out his gift—a giant ruby (confiscated from Decepticons from a mission last week) cut and carved expertly into a scraplet.

Wheeljack noticed the tag hanging from one of its red legs. He turned it over, reading.

_You can’t experiment on it like the real thing, but you and I both know it’s the closest to a scraplet you’re ever going to get. At least without Optimus and a dozen others getting on your aft and possibly discharging you for treason._

Wheeljack didn’t need to know who sent the gift. His optics softened as he turned it in his hands. “It’s even better,” he mumbled to himself with a cheerful smirk. 


	12. Coded One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My idea of what a Cybertronian "wedding/union" would be like.

Sunstreaker had only seen a vial of innermost energon once in his life. He’d been in the hospital, slowly recovering from what might have been a fatal wound. The vial was left at his bedside, as per tradition, and he immediately knew it was Sideswipe’s.

But Sunstreaker had never seen his own innermost energon. Not that it mattered. It was the same color as everyone else’s; a glowing purple. Still… Kind of weird, holding a vial of it in his hand. He rubbed at his chest; two days ago, Ratchet had been in there, removing some of this precious life-fluid.

"It’s perfectly natural to be a little nervous."

Sunstreaker broke out of his daze, looked up from the vial to Optimus standing in front of him. The Autobot leader was grinning under his mask.

"Kinda freaky, isn’t it?" Wheeljack laughed. He held up his own vial. "Seein’ it like this."

Sunstreaker swallowed. “Sorry,” he apologized. He met Wheeljack’s gaze again. “It’s just… I never thought I’d be doing this.”

"Me neither, kid."

Both partners looked to Optimus, nodded. Optimus nodded in return, then started his speech. A few minutes later, he held out his hands; each Autobot placed their vials in his palms. Sunstreaker knew what the Prime was saying in that ancient vernacular, having read the typical speech prior to the wedding, but for some reason the words felt… much more powerful when spoken.

Especially when Optimus exposed his Matrix, placing the vials in its bathing, powerful light.

Once blessed, Optimus returned the vials, switching them out—Wheeljack’s to Sunstreaker, Sunstreaker’s to Wheeljack.

Optimus spoke in that ancient Cybertronian tongue again before finishing in Neocybex, “Blessings to you both. The Matrix has recognized you two as one, forever united in life, and in death.”

Wheeljack’s optics creased and he bounced a little on his heels. Sunstreaker couldn’t help but smile; beamed, in fact, until his cheeks hurt. He clutched the vial tight to his chest; both Autobots turned and thanked Optimus before reaching out their free hands, threading them together.

Pulses met, and the bond was sealed.


	13. Can I Kiss You?

Wheeljack looked up from his datapad, blinking wide optics. Sunstreaker remained firmly staring at him.

“… Why?” Wheeljack asked after almost a solid minute of silence.

“I want to try it,” Sunstreaker said, shrugging, “the humans make it seem so…” His optics brightened a little. He looked away, embarrassed. “… Fun.” Sensuous, romantic, _exhilarating_. But “fun” seemed the less dorky word choice.

Wheeljack sat the datapad down, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I–I don’t particularly mind–I’m all about experimentin’ an’ such–but… I think you need t’have mouths t’kiss, right? An’ I kinda… Well…” And, really, for the first time, Wheeljack actually felt sort of upset he didn’t have a mouth.

Sunstreaker huffed. “You don’t– You don’t need to, just… Use the electric… pulse…” He was so embarrassed. He didn’t know why. Maybe because kissing was so human, so… base and kind of gross and weird. That wasn’t his style. But the way Carly described the sensation to him…

Wheeljack’s optics shimmered. “Ah. The pulse I use when I’m–-”

“Yeah, that.”

Wheeljack thought a moment. “… Okay,” he said. His optic ridges creased with sudden doubt. “But… Well, I don’t want you t’be disappointed if it doesn’t–-”

Suddenly, Sunstreaker’s lips were pressed to Wheeljack’s maskplate; it didn’t take long for the scientist to get over the surprise, and do the “electric pulse.” Just a small blip from his EM field, channeled around his mask. It felt like a little kiss; maybe, perhaps. It tingled, but it sent a little rush through Sunstreaker. He kissed the maskplate again, and Wheeljack gave him another loving pulse.

Even though this wasn’t the way humans kissed, Sunstreaker believed it was by far superior and nicer.


	14. I Just Want This

“I know I’ve screwed up. Too many damn times to count. I know I… I know I messed up real bad. But…”

Sunstreaker placed his hands over the CR chamber; he kept his head bowed. Couldn’t bear to look at the unconscious, dying person within. “I won’t try to justify my actions to you,” he said, “even though I…”

Images flashed across his mind’s eye–MECH, the rush of terror and confusion merging with Hunter, the pain, the torture, the distrust, the betrayal; the horde, tearing, _ripping, clawing_ -–Sunstreaker finally looked up, met the blank look on Wheeljack’s face. “I know I shouldn’t ask–-but it’s different, you know? It’s not… it’s not for me. I just want…”

Sunstreaker grit his teeth. Fingers curled into fists against the glass, trembled. “I don’t care what’s happened to me; I know my luck’s probably run dry. But please… Just one favor. I didn’t ask to be brought back, but I did ask for the pain to stop. I paid for what I did–at least I think I have–but I don’t know… I don’t even know if you’re even real. I’m probably just talking to… to…”

Sunstreaker’s spark sunk in his chest. His hand moved over Wheeljack’s floating at his side. “I just want this. This one last stroke of good luck. If not for me, then for him. I probably don’t deserve it, but he does.”

Twice before Sunstreaker prayed for the pain to end. Death–or something temporarily the same–was always the response. If that’s the exchange he would need to make for Wheeljack to survive, then he supposed being struck down again would be worth it. Only Sunstreaker may not wake up this time around.

But, hey. Third time’s the charm, right?


	15. You Don't Need To Protect Me

“I know.”

Wheeljack smirked, nursing the side of his sore, dented head. Sunstreaker sat beside him on the berth, looking stubborn as usual. Though Wheeljack could easily read the underlying concern he tried so desperately to conceal.

“I may be old, but I still got some fight in me,” Wheeljack chuckled, sirens playfully flashing.

“We’re teammates. We look out for each other. Cover each other’s back,” Sunstreaker insisted.

Wheeljack nodded. He flexed his knee–-all better, no longer locked. “Yes, but-–”

Sunstreaker took Wheeljack’s hand. “I’m just looking out for my teammate, okay?” he huffed. “If anything were to happen to you…”

“Ratchet would be so relieved,” Wheeljack quickly filled the awkward silence left from the younger Autobot trailing off.

Sunstreaker snorted. “Yeah. Guess he would be.”


	16. Come Home With Me

Wheeljack had never seen a room so… so… _pristine_.

Sunstreaker kept everything organized and in its proper place. It was clean and neat and tidy. There were paintings along the walls, all very fitting of the young bot’s aesthetic, and a body mirror nearby the berth.

Wheeljack tried not to laugh at that. Not that he thought it was kind of sad, but rather kind of cute. Either would probably offend Sunstreaker.

“I’m glad we chose yer place,” Wheeljack laughed, “mine’s a disaster zone.”

Sunstreaker went to the personal mini-bar-–also very neat with pretty yellow neon lights and everything–-and poured them two cubes of the finest energon, Wheeljack figured. “Thanks,” he said, taking one. He sipped it–-yup, finest around.

“You and Sideswipe are the same then,” Sunstreaker snorted. “Both living and recharging in a junkyard.”

“It’s not so bad,” Wheeljack said. “Maybe you could come over an’ help me do some organizin’?”

“Will I need to bring hazardous material bins?”

Wheeljack laughed. “Nah. I keep that stuff in the spare room,” he joked, winking.

Sunstreaker took him by the hand, leading him away from the door. “Try not to make a mess while you’re here,” he said.

Wheeljack followed along like a little happy puppy. “I promise to clean up after myself.”

“Good,” Sunstreaker replied, and sat Wheeljack down on the bed beside him. He stared over his cube at the scientist. “Though I might make a little mess of you by the time we’re done.”


End file.
